


Strange Haunting

by AdrenalineRevolver



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Crossdressing, Cute Animals, Jehanparnasse Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 03:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrenalineRevolver/pseuds/AdrenalineRevolver
Summary: For Jehanparnasse week: HauntedA strange young man breaks into Montparnasse's home for even stranger reasons.
Relationships: Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Strange Haunting

Sometimes one simply has to be pretty. 

Not for the public, not for social media, but for yourself.

Montparnasse delicately finished the cat’s eye of his eyeliner before stepping back to admire his work in the tall mirror. 

Black Christian Loubiton stilettos he could almost walk in. Black stockings, lace garter belt, and long dark gloves designed by Dita Von Teese laid beautifully against his skin. His face was done up perfectly from his Chanel Le Rouge Compact; carefully accenting the eyes while using only lip balm on his perfect lips and adding a heart shaped beauty mark, of course. Then the dramatic sheer black Cassandra dressing gown to top it all off. That was his real reason to get all dolled up, he just had to see if his newest addition fit the rest of his collection. It did wonderfully. 

The beauty in the mirror transfixed him; typically he was so focused on looking intimidating he had almost forgotten how lovely and demure he could be.

He was tempted to take a photo but he knew better than anyone that phones could be taken and photos could be seen. It-

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of a window closing downstairs. Fucking hell, someone had climbed in while he was distracted. He knew it couldn’t be anyone he would actually want in his home. Babet had the key to the place, Gueulemer would just knock, and Claquesous would unlock the back door. It couldn’t be Eponine or Gavroche either. Eponine was working and the boy was in school.

Fuck, it was someone he had pissed off. Was it the creep he had been catfishing? The teens he sold the catnip to claiming it was weed? It wasn’t like he was a stranger to infuriating people and unlike Claquesous he didn’t bother killing his targets because it was just too easy to be caught these days.

Or worse, it was a cop. He can’t go to jail. Babet had sat him down and told him that being young, attractive, looking feminine, and being gay made death a more attractive option than jail after Montparnasse had told him that he prefers men. It was almost enough to chase him out of the game, if he had other options it might have. If it was a cop Montparnasse would just have to get the drop on him. Claquesous would know how to get rid of the evidence. Everything would be fine.

He slips the knife out from under his bed and creeps his way to the door. As he opens it he realizes that if he fails to beat this person they were likely going to take his outfit as an invitation to torture him before they kill him. Then he would just have to be perfectly silent.

It takes forever to sneak down the hall, between his shoes and fear of the invader somehow hearing him through the carpet he creeps inches at a time. When he finally got down a few steps his jaw drops at the scene before him. 

The man that has broken into his home has a long red braid and a green plaid shirt that would suit him quite well if it wasn’t for his clashing and overcrowded bright teal flower patterned leggings and hideous neon pink crocs that seem to have been drawn on. He was also talking to Montparnasse’s cat.

“Shh, you’re going to get me caught.” He whispers to the kitten as it turns up a notch on how loud it’s purring as it rubs against him. Traitor. “Kitty please. Someone might be home.” He continued to work on something in the windowsill. When Montparnasse craned his head to look it was the little houseplants that he forgot they even had. The intruder was cutting the dead leaves off and watering them. 

“What the fuck?” Montparnasse practically shouts.

The intruder jumps straight into the air and gasps in surprise before turning around and staring. His face was a bright pink and freckles seemed to dot him everywhere, if he wasn’t breaking and entering Montparnasse would be tempted to compliment his shining green eyes. 

Montparnasse wraps the housecoat around himself even more and holds up the knife, he knew more than anyone that beauty meant nothing when it came to what someone was capable of. “Why the hell are you in my house?” He tries to sound more threatening but his abject confusion has to show through because the intruder didn’t seem very phased. He just continues to stare. “I know you can hear me!”

“I-I uh. Your plants.” He gestures towards the windowsill.

“The plants?” Montparnasse raises an eyebrow.

“They needed to be watered.” He sounds like he thought it was fairly reasonable. “They were dying.”

“…Get out.” This is the last thing Montparnasse needs right now. 

“Only if I can come back and look after them.” He has the audacity to insist.

“Yeah sure, whatever. I’ll even make tea, just leave.” He uses the knife to point at the door. Surely this guy would forget about it the moment he left and just wander back into whatever drug den he crawled out of.

“Okay, does next week about this time work?” He smiles and it’s sweet enough that it almost throws Montparnasse. Almost.

“Sure.” He was going to say anything to get this guy out of here.

“Alright.” He pets the traitor of a cat once more before making his way to the front door. “She’s really sweet, what’s her name?”

“…Tiffany.” Why was this guy so calm?

“Oh like Theophania? Was she born during the feast of Epiphany?” He scratches behind her ears as she follows him.

Montparnasse can’t even begin to figure out what he’s talking about. Something Greek. “…I picked her up in a blue box.”

“Huh?” He cocks his head to one side.

“Like the store? Breakfast at Tiffany’s? Marilyn Monroe sings about it?” How stoned is this guy?

“Sorry, I don’t really know anything about brands.” He was a little sheepish, though not about breaking and entering apparently.

Montparnasse is tempted to point out that that much was obvious but he didn’t want to lose control of the situation. “Right. Well. Have a nice day.”

“You too!” He pauses when he reaches the door and Montparnasse’s heart does the same. “I uh, just wanted to say before I go…” Montparnasse figures it’s going to be some threat but this little weirdo is full of surprises. “Your outfit is pretty.” With that he hurries out the door and shuts it behind himself. 

Montparnasse takes a moment to process what the hell just happened before realizing he has to rush over and re-lock the door. What the hell was that?

Tiffany has the gall to rub against his legs. “You’re awful.” He picks her up only to have her purr louder as she’s held. “This is punishment, you disloyal little tramp.” 

Tiffany doesn’t really seem to care.

“Well if you won’t help me fight anyone off you better help me get out of these heels.” Montparnasse all but collapses on the couch and starts to pry the shoes off in case he comes back. “Christ. What do you think he was on?”

The cat meows at him. 

“Meow isn’t a drug. Unless you’re talking about mephedrone, that sounds like a plausible street name.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “That’s a stimulant though. He seemed ridiculously calm. Pot is probably his game.”

She flops over in his lap. “And you just warmed right up to him. Do you have a thing for stoners that we need to talk about?” She purrs as Montparnasse scratches under her chin. 

Montparnasse was speechless when the intruder actually shows back up. 

Granted Montparnasse had invited him to come by but he didn’t think he actually would. Yet here he was in a red bell-sleeved dress (One that had a flower print on the body and something else entirely designed on the sleeves, horrible.), acid wash bell-bottom jeans, and those awful glove-like toe shoes. Montparnasse is tempted to cry.

“Hello again, I’m here to check on the plants.” He smiles like he isn’t committing some truly heinous fashion crimes.

“Are you high again?” He has to grab Tiffany as she hurried by so she wouldn’t sneak out the door. The black cat starts up her usual purring. 

“Again? I wasn’t before.” He looks genuinely perplexed. 

“Are you telling me you dress like that on purpose?” Montparnasse has to pick his jaw up off the floor.

He nods. “Wonderful isn’t it?”

“And you’re sober. And sane?” This man…

“I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity.” He seems to be quoting something. 

“You going to tell me who that is or just leave me hanging?” He felt like he should know it.

“Edgar Allan Poe. You would like him. He died of rabies.” His explanation does nothing to ensure Montparnasse of his sanity but it is oddly a touch endearing. 

“Right then,” Montparnasse opens the door for him. “Come on in.” 

“Thank you.” He smiles and it seems to make the air around him brighter. “Your outfit is nice today too.” 

Montparnasse resists the urge to preen. With his skinny jeans and asymmetrical black sleeveless turtleneck he had better look nice. This thing was expensive and Tiffany kept trying to bat at the long side. Honestly he had chosen it in case his intruder had shown up as it was the only short sleeved thing he owned and wanted highlight the fact that his arms had some actual tone to them from pulling himself up the sides of buildings. He wanted to be sure this guy knew he wouldn’t go down without a fight. “Thank you.” 

“Hello Tiffany. Is your pretty collar from your store?” He points out the signature blue collar.

“It is actually, did you look that up?” Montparnasse shuts the door behind him.

“You made me curious.” He heads over to the plants. “Do you like Classical Hollywood Cinema?”

He adores it. “I know some, why?” He carefully sits on the couch. 

“You mentioned Marilyn Monroe and Breakfast at Tiffany’s last time. Do you have any favorites?” He picks through the leaves.

“Well.” Montparnasse gazes at the ceiling. “I’ll always have a weakness for City Lights. Charlie Chaplin was a genius. It of course helps that my mother was a broke flower girl herself.” He always secretly hopped the events of the movie would happen for her, some kind man fall head over heels for her and do everything he can to help her. “There’s always Casablanca but everyone loves Casablanca. Anders als die Andern is absolutely vital. Rebel Without A Cause is fantastic.”

“I’ve heard of a few of those. What’s the German one though?” For an insane man he carried on good conversation.

“It’s…” Oh hell, this guy had already seen him in women’s underwear. “It’s one of the first pro-gay films ever made. It was made in 1919. It was a push back against the German government at the time which had made homosexuality a crime.”

“I’ll need to watch it then. I-“ He’s interrupted by the alarm on Montparnasse’s phone. 

“I’ll be right back,” he heads off to the kitchen and is eventually back with a little blue box and his cat’s utmost interest. “Sorry, this one freaks out and starts screaming if it wakes up and realizes it’s alone.” Montparnasse pulled the squeaking curly haired black puppy out of its box. “You’ve been fed stop this.” It doesn’t stop until Montparnasse gives up and sets it in his lap. 

“What’s it’s name?” Yes a good question, what was the little creature’s name? Perhaps Prada would suit it? Or maybe Tiresias would better describe his condition and ability to seemingly predict when Montparnasse was busy. Not that Montparnasse had looked up greek mythos after his previous visit or anything so ridiculous. 

“It wasn’t meant to have one. I was just going to turn it over to the shelter once it’s old enough.” He frowns at the puppy but scratches it behind the ears all the same.

“Sounds like there’s a but there.” The visitor smiles like he knows some sort of secret.

“Sneaky little bastard has no eyes, so now I’m stuck with it because no-one else will want it.” As he speaks Tiffany sniffs at the pup. “That and my housemates would kill me if I got rid of it. They prefer dogs anyway. Personally I think dogs are gross and smell strange, like most men. So I guess I have a poodle now. At least he fits my preferred aesthetic.”

“It’s a purebred?” He sprinkles some water on a particularly thirsty looking plant.

“It’s breeder left it in a box by the river. I guess they didn’t want to drown it but left the option open to everyone that walked by. I was just unlucky enough to be the first who saw it.” Montparnasse shrugs.

“Unlucky? It sounds like wonderful luck.” He always seems so confused by the most basic of things. It’s a little charming.

“If you want a dog and don’t mind being seen carrying the crying thing two miles on foot.” Montparnasse remembers shoving the pupping into his jacket and cursing at it as he walked. Perhaps it hadn’t been the most mature thing but it did feel good.

“Then the puppy is lucky to find someone so nice.” He brushes a stray strand of hair out of his face and smiles down at his work; Montparnasse can’t help but wonder what difference he sees in the leaves.

“I am not nice.” He huffs. 

“Saving a puppy seems quite nice. It’s just a shame you can’t do the same for these plants.” Does this man have the gall to tease him in his own home after technically breaking in?

“Plants don’t yell at you when you forget them.” It’s true as well; animals were far easier because if you became too wrapped up in your own affairs the screaming would begin very shortly. Plants would just suffer in silence until you realize that they’re dead. 

“Yes I’m sure that’s why this place is absolutely brimming with the ghosts of poor plants past.” He gestures towards the ceiling as if he can see them plainly.

“You have me. I’m a plant serial killer. I even torture them.” He gives a fake little evil laugh.

“Well you hold your knife like a fencer holds his sword so I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve used it on these poor things. Or something else.” He throws this out there like it’s nothing. 

Montparnasse stares silently, trying to process exactly what’s being said. “You are absolutely mad.” He’s fairly certain of that. 

“Would that be a problem?” He almost seems nervous. 

“Perhaps to people who aren’t haunted by the ghosts of plants. You’ll have to keep coming back or else I’ll find a way to kill them as well.” It was a round about way to ask him to come back, but it would have to do.

A bright smile finds it’s way to the redhead’s face. It makes his freckles look like a constellation of stars. “Kill a ghost? That’s madness.” 

“No wonder we find each other agreeable then.” He shrugs. 

He laughs and it’s a much stronger sound than Montparnasse would have expected. Montparnasse would have assumed his laugh would be like the soft twinkling of bells. Instead this soft being has a laugh that would make a witch go absolutely green with envy and it makes Montparnasse realize what it is that’s so charming about him. He’s unrestrained. 

He wears horrible clothing because they make him happy. He breaks into homes because he wants to look after the plants. He refuses to hide his laugh and attempt for something that would be fitting because he no doubt sees it as censoring himself. The man lives his life the way Montparnasse does, he simply has desires that Montparnasse can’t begin to understand. 

“I almost forgot to make that tea. I have rose flowering tea, Maghrebi mint tea, hibiscus, and chamomile. I also have a Victoria Ardiuno that I’m very proud of if you’d prefer espresso.” He points out the carefully crafted copper machine.

“What poor rose did you assassinate to afford that?” He asks with a grin.

Montparnasse throws back his head and laughs, so taken off guard that he fails to hide the barking harshness that sometimes creeps its way in. “It was an innocent little lily. It never stood a chance.”

“Ah, and the Fleur-de-lis is at last plucked. All the better given it’s reign of terror on cat-kind. I’d like to try the mint tea if that’s alright, I don’t think I’ve ever had any of the authentic sort.” He seems satisfied with his work and finds a place to sit on the couch.

“I will have to charge you. Just a small price.” He goes searching through the cabinets.

The visitor raises an eyebrow. “If you say my name is your price I will absolutely assume you to be fae.” 

“You’re the one that broke into my home for the sake of plants. Or ghost plants, I’m not quite sure.” Montparnasse points out.

“Fair.” He admits. “I’m Jehan.”

“Montparnasse.” He puts the kettle on and watches as Tiffany rolls around in Jehan’s lap. Perhaps she has good taste after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Off topic? A little. But Jehan /would/ break into someone's home over plants.


End file.
